<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Merinthophobia by Lostflamefox</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455087">Merinthophobia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostflamefox/pseuds/Lostflamefox'>Lostflamefox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Errortale (Undertale), Corpses, Errortale Sans Has Issues (Undertale), F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Murder, Nihilism, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Serial Killers, Stalking, Tags Are Hard, reader is female</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:01:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostflamefox/pseuds/Lostflamefox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>--This is the revamped version. Similar concept, same name, similar personality of reader, but made much darker.--</p>
<p>Merinthophobia (from Greek merintho, meaning “string”) is the fear of being bound or tied up.</p>
<p>Life is, frankly, meaningless. People come and go, they change, they live, they die. You've come to terms with that. That's just how things are. Death and life have no impact on anything in the long run. Eventually, humanity as a whole will spark out, or be stomped out by their own boot. It's inevitable. Time, and death, is inevitable.</p>
<p>People around you die. Especially recently. A serial killer with a unique method of murder has been going at it for a little over a year. This usually wouldn't get your attention. At most, it would've been something neat to read up on in your spare time. With the way things are turning, though... it's getting personal. You have a feeling you're getting snagged in the strings, and you don't like it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sans (Errortale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale) &amp; Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. --Prologue-- The Last Stepping Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Existential nihilism is the philosophical theory that our life has no intrinsic meaning or value. With respect to the universe, existential nihilism suggests that a single human or even the entire human species is insignificant, without purpose and unlikely to change in the totality of existence.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course it was raining.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the person planning the funeral had looked at the weather forecast while planning the date, consciously or subconsciously. It was so clich</span>
  <span>é for it to be raining at a funeral - the type of atmospheric setting in a movie, where the camera would slowly pan over the black-clad guests, having a close-up view of a woman under an umbrella crying and wishing the deceased hadn’t gone so soon. They were so young. It wasn’t their time yet. Etcetera etcetera.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The attendees were gathered under an awning outside of the funeral home, chatting quietly about the incoming service. It was going to be a quick funeral. The plan was to gather, hear the eulogy, and talk about the deceased’s life at the after party held at the deceased’s sister’s place. The only reason she agreed to come was that she was promised there wouldn’t be lots of religious talk, about how he was in a better place. Very few of the people there were deeply religious, so there simply was no need. They had heard plenty of it already, and there was no need to say it over and over. Besides, even if it wasn’t part of the schedule, she knew at least a couple people at the after party would be giving some sort of sermon together. It was inevitable, unfortunately. At least at that point she could leave without causing some kind of scene.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yet… attention followed her around, like a moth attracted to the flames of a lighter, or the electricity of a bug zapper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have some serious audacity to show up here, with how you are. Are you going to give respect to the dead, or are you here to tell us it’s stupid to grieve?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This better not be a repeat of Gloria’s wedding. We all know that was a disaster.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for coming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Amid the hostility, Dawn walked up to her with a small smile. “I know you didn’t have to come, and I appreciate the fact that you’re here. I know how close you and Armin were.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for inviting me. Nobody else seems to like that I’m here, but I guess that’s to be expected. It’s only fair.” She had come to terms with the fact that nobody liked how she went about her life, and she didn’t blame them. Noone likes a existential nihilist. It wasn’t a very… popular way of thinking. Not that she cared. People could hate her if they wanted, it didn’t matter in the long run. She didn’t like the company of most people regardless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dawn nodded in response. “Yeah, that’s a theme I’ve noticed. I don’t care, though. Just try not to ruin people’s day and it’s all fine. We’re all here for Armin.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because it was Dawn, she held back a retort. “We sure are,” she said instead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The doors to the funeral home opened and the group was beckoned inside, going quiet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is his murder investigation still ongoing?” Someone wondered aloud. The ‘someone’ was the man she recognized as being one of Armin’s friends, who she’d seen at a few parties she’d been dragged into attending. “I hope it is, since they haven’t caught the bastard who did it. And so many other people. You would think they would have caught the sick fuck by now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard they’re still going, but they can’t find any evidence besides the bodies. It’s a really… bad way to go. I hope they find who’s responsible and do to them what they did to those poor, poor people… not that that’s realistic. At least they’d for sure get the death sentence.” The new speaker was some woman she’d never met, and didn’t care to know the name of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They won’t catch him. The only evidence they have is the way the bodies are left. There’s no fingerprints, nothing. The killer’s a professional, even if the mutilation suggests a crime of passion. There’s nothing linking these people, no connections between victims aside from the method of death,” she replied, her voice dull. “They can guess the gender by the height because of the trajectory of things, but that’s it. Even that’s ridiculous, though. Incredibly flimsy. After all, it’d be very easy to find an eight foot tall man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her response had killed the conversation in the corner, and the two moved to join the bulk of the party. Dawn was leading a section of the people in talking about nostalgia, how great the years with Armin had been. How good of a life he had lived. She forced her face to stay straight and she looked over boredly at the wall, pondering why she was still there. It was basically over. She had no reason to stay. But… there she was, standing in the corner like an outcast, listening to the lamentations of people who missed a person who was forever taken away from their lives. It was pathetic. It was stupid. It was a waste of her time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>… Maybe it was the guilt. The tinge of fear of the unknown.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After all, there was a connection between the victims of the serial killer, even if the police hadn’t figured that one out yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before she knew it she was closing the front door behind her and fishing her keys out of her pocket as she walked towards her car. It was still raining, more heavily now than earlier, and she was drenched when she unlocked the car door and got behind the wheel. Her hair and the fabric of her clothes stuck to her skin uncomfortably, and she wiped the hair away from her face as she started up the car.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The car backed out of the driveway and left the house of grieving family members and friends of the deceased.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she blinked, she saw the crime scene. When she saw the crime scene, she remembered the twisted, contorted body. She remembered the way the body was twisted and pulled, with marks from where something not unlike string had constricted around the limbs or torso or neck and stopped circulation. That was no way to die. She truly missed him, even if his life had meant nothing in the long run. His death meant nothing too. The universe was merciless. The killer was merciless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Armin was just the next step in the ladder. The next stone sticking out of the span of the river. The killer was climbing up, crossing the river, and was nearly at the top. Just one step away from the bank. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know why. She didn’t need to know, she just needed to avoid it. Go about life as normal, just with added precaution. She didn’t care for her life that much, but she didn’t wanna die the way the others did. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew that Armin wasn’t the end, but she had a hope that she’d be left alone. She didn’t believe in ‘it was their time’, but if patterns followed from the other victims, she had a month left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A month.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t looking forward to it. To the waiting. To the event. She sighed, the car going faster for a moment, as though she could speed away from the inevitably of time, but it slowed down again, nearing the speed limit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>… Oh well. She had work tomorrow. There was no use losing sleep over it. If she dies, she dies. If she lives, she lives. Life will go on, no matter how unfair that was. No matter if she cared.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her train of thought, she let out a dry chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of somebody going out of their way to do this to her was… well, almost hilarious. In the grand scheme of things, she definitely didn’t matter. She worked a dead-end job. She was distant with her family. She had a very small group of friends, which she could barely call her friends. Yet somebody was working their way up to her. A serial killer. It would have flattered her if it hadn’t been murder, and if she wasn’t sure she was next.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The best thing she could do for now was to go about life as normal. Don’t alarm anyone. Don’t make a fuss.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After all, the fuss would come to her. It always did.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Emails and Phone Calls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Ordinary is defined as something with no special or distinctive features. It is standard, or commonplace.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If she were asked to recommend what type of job to look into applying for, data entry would be nowhere near the top of the list. Higher if they wanted something mind-numbing or if they weren’t very skilled in any other field. It brought to mind the clacking of keys, the hours spent typing, having to rub her eyes after the glaring white of the monitor started to burn. It was a paycheck, but it wasn’t a job for the passionate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wednesdays were always this slow. She’d finished the bulk of her work already and was stalling on finishing the last of it. When nobody was looking she’d open YouTube or Netflix or some other streaming site and browse, or she’d open an idle clicker game to burn the time with. Her newest game running in the background was the infamous Cookie Clicker. She was already decently into the game, having gotten many of the achievements and was well on her way to properly starting the Grandmapocalypse. It was something more interesting than transferring data from document type to document type, and she knew she wasn’t the only one to be playing it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several of her other coworkers - only two of whom she knew the name of - had heard the clicking from her cubicle and decided to make a competition out of it. Whoever was the most progressed each Friday was considered that week’s winner, and the spoils were… well, bragging rights. She didn’t participate too much, but did find it somewhat amusing to listen to the incessant clicking from the cubicle to her right from early morning to afternoon. It was annoying, too, but she figured it wouldn’t last very long. Like her, they moved from game to game when it got boring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>15 minutes until her lunch hour. She hadn’t brought anything spectacular to eat, but she could more openly watch Netflix without having to worry about her manager seeing her slacking off at her desk. There was a new show she’d been binging that she was itching to get back to, and wanted to give her full attention. She opened a new tab and pressed the search bar, tempted to open Netflix now. She doubted that if she got caught her manager would be too upset. It was so close to her lunch anyway. Knowing him, though, he definitely wouldn’t appreciate it. She made the final decision to type in netflix.com/browse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should check your emails,” a voice piped up from behind her. She startled a little, but turned around to look at one of her coworkers. A guy from a couple cubicles away. His name slipped her mind, but they chatted sometimes in the mornings, when they’d both be in the elevator. “You mentioned that you check your emails after lunch. They just sent out a memo you’ll wanna see now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Turning back around, she opened a new tab to do just that, vaguely taking note that he left her cubicle immediately to go let another person know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Inbox (809)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the top of the list was the memo he had mentioned, which she opened immediately to scan through it to see why it was so important. It was harder to stay indifferent when she read words like “layoffs” and “possible paycheck cuts”. They wouldn’t have final decisions for another couple months. She tapped her keyboard idly as she digested that information, going out of that email and back to her inbox. It was… definitely a lot to process and consider. Pros and cons to weigh. As much as she genuinely didn’t care, this was her only income, and losing income was something that nobody enjoyed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However… it could be an excuse to look into getting a better job. Something more interesting. Something better to fill the time with, instead of boredly playing Cookie Clicker and looking through the trending pages of YouTube. It might not be something she would even have to think about. After all, her job might not be in danger at all - and there was always the chance that she’d be attacked by that serial killer at any moment. She wouldn’t have to worry about having an income then. At the same time, it had been a month and a half since the death of Armin, and she was beginning to believe that he was the last one. The serial killer likely would have gone after her by now. She could really take the time to focus on other things. It was a good reminder that not all of her life should be dedicated to worrying about things that might happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Curiously, she spotted an unusual email right below the memo in her inbox. Both the sender and the subject of the email were in the usual bold, but they were in glitched letters - she couldn’t make out what the words said. She clicked on it to open up the email and read it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Found you at last.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>These were legible letters, just four of them in an otherwise empty email. She’d gotten this email roughly half an hour ago. Uselessly she scrolled up and down, trying to figure out what it meant, who it came from. Some reason it would have been sent to her. The first thing to come to mind was that it could possibly be from the killer, but the only thing that did was start her down a rabbit hole of more questions. She pressed the little X on the tab to close it and shut down that train of thought. No rabbit holes today. By no means was she dumb, but she was going to chalk it up to being a glitch or an email sent to the wrong address. The killer wouldn’t be dumb enough to warn her. There was no way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swung shut loudly behind her as she walked inside her apartment. She placed her keys on the coat rack by the door, listening to the idle sound as they clinked gently against one another against the soft beige paint. “Harlowe?” She called into the apartment, trying to listen for the jingling of the bell. When there was no noise, she sighed, and walked further into the bland and somewhat messy apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only a moment after that the calico house cat came bounding into the room, the silver bell attached to the black collar letting out furious rings at every stride. She reached down; her hand was headbutted and a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>mrrow</span>
  </em>
  <span> accompanied a purr. “Did I wake you up?” She knew there wouldn’t be an answer, but she liked talking to the cat nonetheless. Vaguely, she recalled reading something about cats understanding some English words other than their name. It made her wonder what words Harlowe knew, not that it mattered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great conversation,” she mused aloud, giving the cat one last scratch behind the ears before she plopped down on her brown faux-leather couch and picked up the remote. Harlowe took the liberty of jumping up onto her lap and stretching out, claws unsheathing slightly as the calico kneaded her lap; she opened up Netflix on the TV to continue watching what she had been over the course of the day, eager to see it properly on a television instead of on a crappy office monitor. The tension between her shoulders relaxed a little as she leaned back to put weight on the couch. This was a nice way to end the work day - having next to no other responsibilities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then her phone started ringing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a heavy sigh, she fished it out of her pocket and glanced at the contact name on the screen. Curiously, she recognized it - even though it wasn’t anything on her contact list. It was those same glitched letters from the email she’d received. It was… concerning, the more that she thought about it. She hit the red ‘decline’ button and put her phone down, resigning to just ignore any calls or emails from now on that had that weird glitch - and to not think about how they got both her email and phone number, considering that she didn’t give that information out freely. Harlowe looked up at her from her lap, head tilted slightly and eyes wide, flicking her tail solidly against the side of her leg. She gave her cat a couple more scratches as she turned her attention back to the TV.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Barely ten seconds later, her phone rang again. Same glitched contact. She hit ‘decline’ before setting her phone down again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Twenty seconds later, it was ringing a third time, same glitchy letters on her screen. With a bit more anger and irritation, she hit ‘decline’ again, and dropped her phone beside her on the couch. Harlowe sniffed at her phone before visibly recoiling, and jumping off of her lap altogether to leave the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A minute passed without a ring, and she started to relax again, hoping that the rest of her afternoon and evening could continue without having to turn her phone off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, that was not the case. It rang again. She was tempted to click ‘answer’ just to give them a piece of her fucking mind, but just the thought of doing that made a shiver run along the length of her spine. Something felt wrong about it. Urgently wrong. She didn’t click ‘decline’, she just held the power button down and turned her phone off completely. For good measure, she put her phone face-down on the coffee table in front of her, even as she assured herself that it was pointless to do so, since her phone couldn’t ring if it wasn’t on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of her evening passed with a palpable tensity that seemed to hover around the living room coffee table. It was quiet - almost too quiet now. Her dinner was something she just tossed in the microwave and ate standing up in the kitchen before heading directly to bed. She wasn’t one to go to bed before eleven, but sometimes she had exceptions. This was one of those exceptions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, her hand paused right before it flicked the light switch, and withdrew. She got under the covers with the overhead light still on. It was silly of her to do - especially considering the fact that electric bills were something among the things she had to pay - but it brought her a sense of security. Again, silly of her to do. It felt better having the light on, as though having it on would immediately stop anything from bothering her. Logic didn’t actually work that way, but for the night, she humored it, as she once did as a kid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damn. She forgot how hard it was to sleep without tiring herself out on her phone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry that this is short and kind of falls apart at the end, I just couldn't stretch the plot of this chapter beyond this point and I just wanted this out so I could move on to the next one. This was a necessary chapter to have, even if it was kind of annoying in length and ending. What do you guys think so far, of everything? I might not write for awhile since I'm like 90% sure I have Covid-19 and its kind of hard to write when I keep sneezing and having to blow my nose at least once every hour (and its not a short kind of blowing your nose, its having to aggressively try and get everything out so your nose stops fucking dripping for 5 goddamn seconds kind of blowing your nose) but hey. At least I got something done, right? Better than when I had a fever of 101.8! My regular temp is 96, for reference... anyway. Don't get attached to Harlowe. You've been warned.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you guys like this new, polished version of a fic I'd started up awhile ago. Inspiration hit and I wrote a prologue in a sitting, had some people look over it, and I figured I would post it. I am incredibly excited for this. This one's having way darker themes, and I'm leaning a lot more into the stuff I'd leaned away from the first time around (not that I got very far into the story). It's the same concept, except now i'm actually putting a bit of my passion into it, and shifting it to become something new. Something better.</p>
<p>Sorry I haven't posted anything in a long, long time! Writer's block has made me its bitch, and it's not nice, but I think I'm starting to pull through. This new project should get me going again. Emphasis on 'should'. No promises, just high hopes. I'd love to get comments and hear what you think about it so far! What you think might happen, what you think about the concept, the character, the writing, whatever! Please don't complain about this being vague, though. This is a prologue, and it's just setting the scene. What's vague will be expanded on later, but I'm curious if anybody can fill in the gaps with what you have so far.</p>
<p>Also, I know I've gotten into a habit of making things very not-about-Sans until much later, but trust me, if I rushed to it and didn't have a buildup it wouldn't have the effect I want it to have. This one has basically no Sans (it's incredibly indirect), and the next one won't have him directly either, but trust me, he's coming. Soon. It'll become obvious this isn't an original work soon, heh. Anyway, sorry again for my absence. Hope to give you guys a lot more content soon!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>